Exiles Path
by Gaia caecilia
Summary: An elfin warrior injured in the battle against Sauron on Mount Orodruin isn't found in the clearing up afterwards and decides to leave the elfin realms, believing himself betrayed.


Here is another of those stories which I've been writing in a somewhat ad hoc way which i have just completed. This is bit angst, especially by my standard but either way, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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He watched from where he lay as people trudged across what he knew to be the battle field. He was somewhat beyond it but not so far that elfin eyes could not see it. Silently, as he watched, he prayed. He prayed that someone would come over here and find him, that they would go beyond the battle field of the mountain and the camp. He could only last so long here, barely able to move.

After maybe a day of lying there after having woken from the battle, he had managed to crawl somewhat and got to the stream he had heard as he lay there. Amazingly, the water didn't seem too foul and he was able to drink, regain a tiny bit of his strength.

Over the next few days, he continued to attempt to crawl and picked up a small amount of things with which to strengthen himself, not realising that as he had pulled himself further along he had got further from the field of battle and out of the sight of even the elves, obscured by the rocks around him.

Eventually he had enough strength to walk, which took the pressure off his gravely wounded shoulder that had barely coped with the crawling and even then only because he was desperate and numbed through the general pain he felt.

It wasn't just physical pain, though that was agony, it was the pain of betrayal. He had seen from his position that not all he knew and who cared about him were dead, he could recognise his herald a mile away, and none seemed to have come searching for him. They did not even seem to have come looking for a body to bury. With friends like that who needed enemies he thought?

XXX

Many days later He had escaped somewhat. He was not sure how he did it, though he guessed incredible luck had played its part. He was no longer in the black lands, he was in what the Gondorians called Ithilien. At least food was somewhat plentiful to forage here. Once he had foraged and eaten enough to regain his strength a bit more he made traps and suchlike to get meat and was able to eat enough to regain enough health to continue his trek at a somewhat better speed.

He wasn't really sure where he was going, other that not towards the elfin realms, he just wondered along, foraging and trapping for food along the way. He paid not attention to time as he wondered onwards to pastures new, ignoring the insistent pain in his shoulder and the weight of armour he had no hope of removing without a blacksmith, horrifically melted as some of it was. In his had, for not a lot of reason he could fathom, other than idiotic sentimentalism, he held the blade that was all that remained of his beloved weapon that he had cherished for many centuries.

Eventually he came to a settlement, as was probably inevitable. It was a remote one, a small fortress in a remote part of Gondor he thought (though he wasn't certain about that, he honestly had no idea where he was). It had a blacksmith, of all the gifts of the Valar, and very sympathetic people. They saw what he was, though thankfully not who he was (not that such isolated people could be expected to), as they saw it a returning lost soldier who needed a new home, albeit an elfin one. He was given a place there. Well, in return for tutoring the few young men who lived there in the art of war and organising their defence. The impressive armour (or well, its remains) and the blade of his weapon (reshafted with good wood) gave him away as a distinguished warrior who, even with little use of one arm due to extensive burn damage, could greatly boost their defences in such an isolated area. It was win win. He got a new home, they got a lot better defences.

XXX

He stayed there a very long time. They excepted that he would not age or die, at least not easily, and so there was no reason for him to leave. It was not as if he built bonds with those in the community. Yes, he lived there and he knew the people there, including his troops but he did not get close to anyone (despite, in the early years, there being a few young women who tried to catch his attention and finally gave up in the face of indifference).

From his isolated spot of Gondor he watched the world go by, anger at his kin simmering under the surface.

XXX

The lord looked at this visiting man, a captain from the capital named Thorongil. He was youthful in appearance but very clearly descended of the Numenorean line with his dark hair and grey eyes, as well as impressive height.

"What is your purpose here, Captain?" The grey eyes continued to observe him unnervingly even as the man prepared to answer.

"It has been noted that the troops of your own people are unusually good warriors and very well trained. I have been tasked with creating an elite group of warriors and sought to at least observe your men and possibly talk to your weapons master to see about his training methods which seem to bare fruit so universally." The lord watched the young warrior carefully, wanting to be sure that he didn't intend to take any of his warriors away from him. The small settlement barely provided enough men to protect itself, let alone contribute to Gondor. Those almost all knowing grey eyes seemed to pick up on his reluctance. "I am aware you cannot afford to lose men, which is why I seek to observe how they are trained so that hopefully I can utilise such techniques with the training of my own men."

The Lord nodded reluctantly and nodded that Thorongil should follow him. The tall man did so silently, observing everything as they went. It was but a short walk to the training ground where the trainee youths that would defend to village in the future were being drilled. The lord pointed to the tall being drilling them in basic weapons patterns.

"There is Morvron, he has been our training officer for some years." The lord pointed. He noted that, as he stated his training officer's name there was a slight start from his guest and an intentness about his face when he observed the indicated person that was more than watching his technique.

The officer was tall, more than 6' 6, closer to 7' in fact. He wore his dark brown hair at shoulder length as most men of Gondor did, though his was unusually straight and seemed endlessly clean, bar mud and blood which even his unnatural ability to remain clean could not fight off. Though it was not visible from this distance he also bore hard, dark blue eyes which the Lord had only seem emotions in on the very odd occasions and skin the neither seemed to tan or burn. Of course, unlike his guest, he knew precisely why this last one was the case and the reason behind his unusual height too. If the man spotted it then he would not deny it but he wasn't bringing it up.

They got closer to the drill area, Thorongil observing intently as they went. Suddenly a gust of wind brushed back his hair and Thorongil gasped with it.  
>"He is of elf kind!" The lord smiled wryly at him.<p>

"Yes, and he has been here since the start of the age." He didn't need any prompting to add what little he knew. "He came straight from the battle on Mount Orodruin, still grievously injured and wearing armour that was deformed enough to need the then smith to remove it. See how he barely uses one arm? It has been maimed since, it is why, although he commands our forces he only fights in the direst need. He can barely carry a shield and I think it causes him agony to do so. In return for his skill as a warrior and an agreement to teach our warriors he was given home space and a salary."

"Do you know why he does not return to his own kind?" Thorongil asked, eyes attentively watching the elf.

"I suspect he feels as if he has nothing to return to Captain. If he has no family as I suspect, or lost his family to Sauron (something I also feel likely) than he most likely would not like to go back to the places which remind him of his grief. I have long felt there is some heartbreak in his past. He never bonds with any of my people and there is no record of him every done so – in fact it is almost as if he actively withdraws from doing so."

Thorongil nodded pensively, still observing the elf with a nearly disturbing level of concentration. It was some minutes before he spoke again.

"That spear, I take he brought the blade with him?" The lord nodded, and frowned in confusion as to the interest value of the spear beyond it obviously being elfin. "There is something familiar about it, beyond it being elfin. I feel as if I should recognise it specifically but cannot quite recall precisely why." The lord shrugged.

"No-one knows anything of his history before he came here, at least if any of my ancestors found out anything of note then they did not pass it on. We have guessed from the few times he has been induced to recite the history of the elves that he was no young elf in the Last Alliance and suspect him high born, both from his stories and the items of war which he brought with him and still uses. It is entirely possible the blade is legendary among elf kind but I cannot help you if it is." Thorongil nodded absently still observing.

XXX

Morvron had rather successfully avoided the human with the elfin name. Granted many Gondorian Lords particularly had elfin influenced names but Morvron did not wish to be noticed and the comment from his lord that not only had the man noticed his blade was elfin (and the he was himself) but had almost recognised it made him wary. He was not sure the Gondorian records were good enough to have resulted as such (not that warriors as a group were great scholars) but he was certain that elfin ones would make it so that anyone who cared to check the lightest of historical works could recognise his blade. Damn it. He hoped that this Thorongil had no elfin connection which caused the recognition and instead that it was to sight of a rare gondorian work that he would not likely come across again that was at fault.

If the man followed it up and correctly identified the thing then he most likely was in deep trouble.

XXX

"Estel?" Aragorn smiled as his foster father entered his room. It was one of his few return visits to Imladris, now some years after his sojourn as Thorongil, and he had been looking forward to some time with his family.

Elrond had perched at his desk as they talked and was absently sorting through the papers on it, making the human smile. Elrond always found his rather sloppy paperwork habits irritating though had long given up trying to change them and had settled for organising his papers whenever they work talking together in Aragorn's quarters. Not that there were a lot of papers now he'd long finished his education but all the same...

As they were talking, Elrond still absently sorting and neatening the paper, the elf lord gave a gasp. The unexpected sound caught Aragorn's attention and he frowned at his father even as the elf stopped and stared at whatever paper was in his hand.

"Ada?" He asked when Elrond seemed to have utterly tuned everything out. Elrond blinked and almost visibly pulled himself out of his stupor, then turned to his youngest child with a single sheet in his hand, showing the drawing to him.

"Where did you get this?" He asked urgently.

"I drew it some years ago when I was in Gondor." Aragorn raised his eyebrow at his father, who seemed a little pale.

"But what prompted such a drawing, ion?"

"I saw that blade being wielded, by an elf who had apparently forsaken elfin kind. I recognised it but could not recall where from and so I drew it intending to research it at some point but had since forgotten about in light of other matters. Why do you ask?" There was an intensity in Elrond's eyes that was unfamiliar to his son.

"Because I know that blade, it is unique to one who was once very close to me. It was believed he had died at the Last Alliance. Can you remember his face well enough to draw him for me?" Elrond asked urgently. Aragorn nodded and took the offered materials. Some minutes later he handed the sketch to his father, apologising that it was not perfect as he had not been able to study him for all that long and it had been some time. Elrond nodded along with the comments, eyes fixed on the paper, face paler than usual.

"It cannot be, he is dead!" Came the shocked whisper, causing Aragorn to frown. "I _saw_ him die!"

It took Elrond several moments to calm and answer his son's obvious questions.

"The features have changed somewhat, but nothing that is not easily changeable has changed – his hair length is easily the most noticeable of changes." He paused as Aragorn frowned, still not knowing who his father was talking about. "The spear, penneth, is Aeglos."

The future king of Gondor and Arnor gaped somewhat gormlessly at that, his mind already making the links.

"The lord of the small settlement he resided within said he had been injured at the battle of Mount Orodruin and had apparently come from that without prior stop – he was still wearing armour the blacksmith had to remove, damaged as it was. He had grievous wounds which prevented much of the use of one arm, his left one I believe. Despite efforts to the contrary, I was not able to meet with him, only observe as he trained troops. He was in command of the settlement's military training, though due to his injury he did not personally fight without a good reason. He took the name Morvron." Elrond quirked an eyebrow.

"Apt I think. Tell me everything you remember of him. I need to know." Elrond urged and Aragorn got comfortable, knowing his father would not let the matter go for some time.

XXX

Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir observed the remains of the settlement with horror. It was nestled in the far south of Ithilien, bordering on one of the more remote bits of the rest of southern Gondor. Its distance from Mordor had saved it from the ravages that had resulted in the region having been deserted some decades before Aragorn, as Thorongil, had found it via rumours of the woodsmen who still had made forays into the rich land despite the danger value. It had been too small and remote to have been cared about and its populace lucky that they'd had en elf making sure their soldiers were trained enough to protect from orc raids.

Apparently, it had not been able to hold out for too long after he'd left and had either been deserted or destroyed sometime since.

Aragorn winced.

"Ada is going to go nuts." He muttered, the twins grinning slightly at him, though the expression was more a reflex than anything. Their eyes were still grim and sorrowful at the sight of the Orcs work.

"Why? We never did find out the full purpose of this mission little brother. I'm guessing you do? He would not have such a reaction to it from what we know." Sighing, Aragorn explained to the two progressively more shocked elves. Eventually, once they themselves had finished interrogating him for details, they closed their eyes and sighed.

"I think you are right." Elladan commented quietly. He looked to his brother, the pair obviously communicating across their twin bond. Eventually they turned back to their human brother.

"Keep Ada's missive with you in case he escaped and you meet him again. We will travel with you until we reach a point where our paths separate. Looking at how old the destruction is, I think there is not point in investigating. It is too old to have much in the way of use to us." Aragorn nodded, he had come to the same conclusion independently.

XXX

The elf known as Morvron watched with amusement as the small ones (hobbit they called themselves) were brought in to Henneth Annun blindfolded. Well, for the first time in some while he had seen something new.

He had heard stories of the little folk before but never anything even vaguely concrete let alone seen one himself.

Further speculation on the little mysteries was put aside for the beautiful view of the sunset through the western window which gave to hideaway its name. It really was spectacular and he loved to view it, even though he had to suppress memories of another place with beautiful waterfalls and stunning sunsets. Another place that was a refuge from war in a rich area that had been destroyed by orcs. He shook his head to clear it of unwelcome thoughts.

The hobbits provided him and the other men much amusement as they went about their own business, covertly watching Captain Faramir talking to the strange pair. It was while the pair were resting that he quietly went over to privately talk to Faramir.

"I sense one of them, the haunted one that leads, carries something of great evil, something that is trying to take him over. Be careful captain. He is not evil and seems to fight it but is affected by it." Faramir nodded, taking one of his best seconds word for it. Faramir, as far as he was aware, did not know his secret, just assumed him in possession of a lot of Numenorean and Dol Amrothian blood and thus possessing many elfin talents.

Morvron had a good idea what the evil the small one was carrying was, his shoulder twinged in pain if got too near. Knowing what had caused his maiming and that magic was almost certainly involved, it did not surprise him that the fell injury recognised the presence of Sauron's ring. He did not, however, think to dwell on the implications of the fact that his injured side was more painful in the presence of the same magic that had caused much of the injuries.

XXX

Faramir laughed very quietly as he listened to Morvron's muttered litany as they hid in West Osgiliath, preparing to attack the army of Sauron who would soon attempt to cross and take the other half of the city from them.

"I feel I should be taking notes. I have never heard such creative cursing in all my life, let alone in Sindarin." Morvron grinned at his captain.

"And Quenya, and dwarvish, and a few others just for the fun of it." Faramir raised an eyebrow. "I was fostered by a shipwright when I was young. Those who work in ports are well known for being particularly creative with their cursing, and more multilingual. I learnt a lot of interesting words when I was there." Faramir, and more than one or two around him sniggered quietly.

"Maybe it is an area we should discuss at a later date." Morvron looked up as he felt a wave of both pain and cold dread. A Nuzgul was flying overhead.

"I think we have bigger troubles than my vocabulary." He muttered as the attack was called. "See you if we survive."

Faramir didn't comment, just saluted his sword, a gesture returned by Morvron's recurved bladed glaive. Then, with elfin speed it went from salute to killing orcs.

XXX

Morvron smiled wryly at the vaguely familiar face that was gaping at him in outright shock. The two elfin twins with him appeared rather surprised as well.

"You called for those presently in charge of those who were the Ithilien Rangers?" He asked quietly, the other at his side having silently elected him spokesperson. The king blinked, even as those around him (bar the twins who were, frankly, hauntingly familiar in appearance to two he knew they could not be) frowned at the obvious shock of his face.

"We thought you dead! I went back to that village you defended and nothing was left..." He trailed off, leaving many in the tent confused, though marginally less so than before (at least they had an idea of why the king was shocked). The twins stepped forward as one, bowing before him.

"Aran nin." They stated quietly. Already cold blue eyes flattened.

"I have not taken that title in an age and I have no intentions of ever taking it again." He tilted his head as they both stared at him in shock (as did the other elf in the room, a wood elf by the looks of him, and the man who seemed to be the king's second and clearly of the Dunadain). "Elrondionath?" He asked quietly. They nodded and he turned to the other elf and frowned slightly as he looked at him, taking in features he could remember well enough on another elf. "Thranduilion?" The elf nodded, looking surprised. At that point the king took over, seeming to have overcome his shock.

"May I introduce to everyone here Ereinion Gilgalad, son of Fingon, former High King of the Noldor of Arda, last I heard known as Morvron (though that could have changed), apparently an Ithilien ranger." It was everyone else's turn to gape as Morvron, formerly High King Gilgalad, rolled his eyes.

"Did you really have to say that?" Elessar shot him a cheeky grin that clearly showed his distant relation to Elros.

"Yes." He rolled his eyes at the man. Marblung, his fellow ranger, finally managed to get his voice back.

"Well, that explains how you swear so well." Morvron actually had the grace to blush as Elessar raised an eyebrow.

"I might have been exercising my vocabulary while we were trying to hold Osgiliath. Captain Faramir commented that he felt he should be taking notes." Once again everyone was staring. "Blame, to name the major though not sole culprits, Cirdan, Oropher, Uncle Finarfin and Oropher." The wood elf raised an eyebrow at the last one. "Your grandfather is the most foul mouthed sindar I have ever met, and there was competition during the War of Wrath and the Last Alliance, including from your father." The elf grinned.

"Hopefully we will both survive this fight, Hir nin, because I suddenly have this feeling you have to most wonderful blackmail stories to pass on." Morvron grinned and was about to reply when Imrahil coughed quietly.

"As vastly entertaining and informative as this is, we do have a war on." Elessar smiled wryly and conceded the point. They silently agreed to let the situation remain as it was until the war was out of the way, and the secret to remain among those who presently knew.

XXX

Morvron sank to the ground in relief, both at winning both the battle and the war, Sauron finally, truly, gone and the relief it brought to his old injuries – amazingly enough not added to today (bar the odd slight cut and nick not worth mentioning). The pain had significantly lessened the moment Mount Doom went up in flames.

Thanking whatever forces were up there, he clutched Aeglos and collapsed with exhaustion, dropping the shield from where it dropped agony through his arm.

XXX

Despite best efforts to the contrary, he had almost been forcibly included with the generals of the west and their friends after the battle. While he did not see Elessar and the twins much as they spent much of their time healing, he got to know the wood elf (Legolas) and his dwarven friend Gimli as well as Imrahil and his sons who were in awe of him, not matter what he did.

Feeling lighter than he had in millennia, though the darkness that had touched his soul since his fight with Sauron had not entirely left (he wasn't sure why and did not dwell), he joined in conversations to a level he had almost forgotten he was capable of. It was so long since he had not been aloof and separate from those he existed around.

After much argument with various people about it, he went to the coronation of King Elessar Telcontar dressed in the formal uniform of the Rangers of Ithilien with Aeglos at his side. He absolutely refused to go with more than his spear/glaive as a way of identifying him as the officially dead High King of the Noldor. He also refused to pull his hair back in an elfin style, giving the excuse that he wore it far too short for that to really work.

He had slipped away from the celebrations as soon as he could reasonably, and then in the days following found a way to get a posting outside of the city, helping to clear up Ithilien for its new Prince, his captain, Faramir. Morvron didn't think the king, amongst others, were particularly pleased with him moving out but Faramir had, in the time he had been part of the Southern Rangers, become accustomed to his reticence and desire for privacy and made sure he got it, seeing his discomfort living in the capital.

It was June when he had to return to the city with a report for Faramir. To his surprise he was bid to go to the Kings House to report to his lord and was guided to a sitting room in the royal residence. When he entered, he looked around at the residents and sighed, watching as they caught sight of him and more than one gasped in shock. He closed his eyes for a moment the opened them and addressed the king.

"Sometimes, Elessar, I think I really hate you, you know that?" The aforementioned king just grinned at him as he, and the other forewarned people in the room grinned at the possibly never seen before sight of Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel and Erestor all gaping like fish in unison.

Eventually Elrond regained his wits somewhat (though those not in the know and not old enough to recognise him were looking singularly confused) and rose, walking over to his king. As he reached out to touch Morvron's face, the elder elf caught his wrist.

"You lost the right to touch me years ago Earendilion." He said quietly, watching the flinch as he refused to use Elrond's name, something he had never done before. Elrond still remembered when this elf had convince Maedhros and Maglor to give he and his twin up for their own good how he had insisted on using their names, knowing full well that often they were treated as a single entity spawned of their then far more famous parents. Both knew the sort of effect referring to Elrond as his father's son would have. It was a deliberate move. Trying not to react to the pain that shot through his heart, the peredhil managed a question to the hard eyed noldo in front of him as he dropped his arm.

"How?" Morvron watched him for so long Elrond thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Sauron threw me from his grasp. I remember nothing other than hitting rock for some time after that. I woke much later, in agony, lying on a ledge of the mountain close enough to watch the battle field. I remember seeing you, him and many others walk through the fields of the dead people at one point or another. None of you ever looked beyond the main field. I remember lying there in so much pain and slowly, taking an entire day, to drag my body to a nearby stream. I still think it a miracle that stream was drinkable.

I spent more days than I care to count, only being able to drag myself along, drinking from that stream and eating what little vegatation there was and that I could get to, praying someone would come near enough for me to be able to hail them or to see me. I prayed so much that, even if you thought me dead, that you would come looking for my body. It would not have taken you long to ascertain that I was not amongst the main body of the dead, I was hardly in standard stock armour. You never did and eventually I had the strength and had learnt to ignore the pain of my injuries enough to walk rather than just crawl and so I left, walking wherever my feet would take me, trying so hard not to be seen from the camp where obviously those who I thought had cared about me but clearly didn't that much were. I left and walked with no aim, eventually crossing into Ithilien where I was able to gather enough to properly strengthen myself and set traps for proper food. I have no idea how long I walked for but eventually I found the village your foster son saw me in and they helped me so when they asked me to train their troops I settled there, away from stress, away from grief, away from those who I had thought cared, but, well, obviously not that much." He shrugged at the end, not caring about the obvious pain in Elrond's face as he finished his flat toned monologue, said totally devoid of emotions. He tried to hide a wince at the still present pain in the horrifically scarred shoulder. Elrond's eyes immediately picked up the slight sign of pain.

"You are injured." He reached for his king again, and Morvron stepped out of reach from his hand with a glare.

"Morvron. Remove your tunic and allow the king to attend your injury." Faramir ordered. Reluctantly Morvron did as ordered. He removed all the clothing on his upper half and stood there, challenge clearly written on his face as the assembled elves took in the sight.

The previously perfect, well toned chest all the elder ones had seen was now marred by a huge dark red burn mark which was very clearly inflamed. Round his left forearm there were two bands of scarring of some unidentified type which were clearly a result of whatever Sauron had done to smash the King's shield before grabbing him, inflicting the terrible burns.

Elessar frowned as he examined the scarring.

"It should not be anything so inflamed after the time it has been there." Ignoring Morvron's growl, he took Elrond's hand and placed it against the scarring. Elrond concentrated a minute and looked at his son in law and nodded grimly.

They led him to a high backed chair and got him to straddle it, facing the narrow wooden back as the pair set to work doing goodness only knows what.

Suddenly he gasped in pain and feinted against the chair back. Neither Aragorn nor Elrond paused in their work fighting the dark magic that suffused the scars. Eventually a dark mist seemed to rise from the injuries only to be expelled from existence by the peredhil lord. Immediately the redness and swelling went down, followed by all of Morvron's muscles relaxing as he finished slumping in the chair and his body threatened to fall. Deftly Elrond caught his king and lifted the totally slack body up, carrying him over to a wide padded bench and laying him down. Elrond sat down, cushioning Ereinion's head in his lap, as Elessar hooked Morvron's legs over the low arm of chair, as Elrond carded a hand through his king's hair.

Faramir watched the tableau with fascination and when it appeared it was over looked to his king for an explanation. Aragorn sighed and was silent for some time before answering.

"His injury was placed there by Sauron himself, with the hand that wore the one ring, and was as much magical as physical. The heat of Sauron's hand from his assumed form was magical in original and so the wound was infused with the same malevolent magic that was Sauron's and his ring. While the magic in his wound was not as strong as that of the ring by any stretch it was still there and affected him as such. It kept the wound inflamed and, I think, had a similar effect to the Witch King's on Eowyn and Merry on his arm. It disabled his arm through a mixture of blinding pain and numbness. It also affected his mind, carrying such magic round in him untreated. It makes him see and assume the worst, it prevented him relaxing, it tried to take all that was good from him. It was only the pure light of his own soul that prevented it taking him over entirely as the rings did the Nazgul. Hopefully now it is removed both his wounds and his mind will heal."

"Mmm" They looked round at the quiet noise from Elrond. "His soul is already brightening. The light that all elves carry round them was almost snuffed out and I fear that he might have been lost before long had circumstances not been as they had. But now we have cleared the wound out of dark magic the light is already restoring itself at an exponential rate. Look, you can see him glow!" He stated quietly, voice little more than a whisper.

Aragorn smiled as indeed, he could see the unconscious elf begin to glow slightly in the way he was accustomed to seeing an elf do. Elrond smiled at them and continued to card his long fingers through the hair in a way the elder elves remembered him doing with his own children when they had been recovering from injury.

XXX

Morvron came round slowly, thoroughly enjoying the gentle feeling of long fingers combing out his hair. Absently he snuggled into the warm pillow his head was nestled on, purring slightly in pleasure. He hadn't felt so good in longer than her could quite remember.

After some minutes the hand lifted as if to go away and without thinking, he caught it and put in back on his head, making his desire clear. To his surprise, he felt his pillow rumble with the laughter he could hear. Slowly he pulled himself to full consciousness rather than the semi-aware state he had been enjoying.

As he did so he finally realised his head was cushioned in someone's lap and he turned slightly to look up and saw Elrond's amused face, and saw the relief flood his eyes as Morvron's own eyes did not immediately darken and harden at the sight of his former herald.

"I think I am missing something since I have no idea why I am lying head in you lap, though you are more than welcome to carry on playing with my hair." Elrond laughed outright, a surprisingly carefree sound from the elf, and carried on carding his hair even as he explained.

"Estel, my foster son, and I cleared the dark magic in your injuries left there by Sauron. You fell unconscious in the process and I was disincline to have you out of my sight so, here you are." He commented with a slight smile.

Morvron examined his memories of the past, now without the taint of darkness, and frowned. How had he not noticed the darkness tainting all his thoughts, and the rather obvious signs that dark magic was there? He sighed, then noticed Elrond begin to card his hair again.

"Don't worry about it Ereinion, the darkness is why you did not notice it. Just come back to us, please." The former king blinked. It was the first time in a very long time he had heard even the hint of pleading in Elrond's voice. He was silent for quite some time.

"You do know that regardless, I have no intention of taking up my title again? I never really wanted it in the first place and the elves have been doing perfectly well without me for the last three thousand years so I see no need to return." Elrond smiled that cryptic, lopsided smile he seemed to have been born with at the older elf.

"And here I was thinking I could drop all that work on you and relax." Ereinion laughed quietly then puled a face.

"I suppose I should get up soon." He said reluctantly.

"Only if you want to." Ereinion relaxed again, quite content where he was, though a small part of him pointed out that he probably looked ridiculous. It was then that he noticed something. His hair was resting against his chest, something which should not have been possible since he had it cut to slightly above shoulder height. He raised his uninjured hand to gently brush the strands that he had not seen in an age. Elrond grinned down at him.

"Blame Mithrandir. Apparently his ability to manipulate what is already there extends to hair and he felt you would look more the elf you are with the correct hair length." The noldo stare upward with an incredulous look. Elrond laughed. "You do look far more your old self, though no-one would mistake you for anything other than an elf now anyway." Ereinion frowned. "Your glow is back and stronger than ever. It is like it has been strengthened fighting against the darkness and now the darkness is gone it glows out brightly. You are very obviously an elf." The former king rolled his eyes.

"Great, and here was me, enjoying anonymity." Elrond laughed softly at him.

"Maybe you can enjoy having your family around you again and your mind cleared of darkness?" Ereinion smiled softly up at his former ward.

"Maybe. At the moment, if I'm honest, I want to enjoy having my hair played with." Elrond snorted and then laughed outright.

"As you wish, as you wish."

XXX

Even with the darkness gone Ereinion felt uncomfortable round the other elves. It didn't stop him taking Legolas's request to go with him and the dwarf to Eryn Lasgalen as it had recently been re-named. Elrond had looked a little hurt by that choice and couldn't help asking his former king why. His response had surprised the peredhil, as had the wickedly mischievous grin.

"The looks on your faces when you saw me were far too funny. I want to get to Thranduil before he gets wind on my ongoing existence because I seriously want a repeat performance. I have also promised Legolas many of the blackmail stories I have of his father and the journey there will give me much uninterupted time to tell all of the best ones." Elrond went pink, knowing that he often also starred in such stories. "Just be glad I'm not travelling with either of your sons."

Ereinion laughed as Elrond sent up a prayer to the Valar.

XXX

"Well met son, care to introduced your guests?" They had just arrived at Thranduil's palace and Legolas had just spent the last minutes hugging his father (totally disregarding propriety). Thranduil looked between amused and relieved at his son's behaviour. When his eyes rested on his son's companions though, there was a hint of disapproval. He clearly recognised Gimli as a dwarf and Ereinion's clothes were human and his face was covered so it was clear that the king had just assumed him to be a tall human.

The look on Thranduil's face when Gimli was introduced was hilarious, sort of constipated as evident dislike warred with millennia of keeping his face impassive and courtesy was ingrained. Then with a mischevious grin Legolas turned to Ereinion and indicated that he should lower his hood.

"And, my friend her, Ada, I think needs no introduction." The look of pure shock on the King's face as he took in the face of his son's other companion was indeed priceless. Very slowly, Thranduil's jaw dropped and his face paled and then he began to sway slightly. Quickly, Ereinion stepped forward and caught the elfin king's arm.

"Peace Thranduil, I haven't seen you look so close to feinting since we saw that Balrog way back in the War of Wrath." Thranduil seemed to shake himself to pull himself back together.

"How?" He uttered faintly.

"Now that is a story to be told over wine and good food my friend, along with the looks on everyone's faces when I turned up in Elessar's sitting room recently." Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Believe me, it was hilarious. I don't think there has previously been the sight to be had of Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Galadriel and Celeborn all gaping in unison. I have no intention of letting them live it down." Thranduil then laughed. As the conversation went on his colour slowly returned.

He then led them through the palace as Ereinion, Legolas and Gimli explained what had gone on during the war. Thranduil had agreed to let Ereinion explain about his reappearance over a meal.

XXX

Cirdan watched the two elves, one dark haired and the other light haired ride into what was now the last remains of Mithlond. Pretty much every elf had left Arda some time before but the little group gathering in the last buildings of Mithlond. All of them didn't really want to leave Arda but, after far too many years resisting, had finally come and now he himself could leave Arda, having sworn to remain until the last elves left.

When the two got close enough to him he went and pulled the dark haired one off his horse and hugged him senseless. Elrond had, many years beforehand, told his of his former ward's reappearance, but Ereinion had resisted coming to Mithlond, fearing the sea longing.

"Took you two long enough." He said gruffly as he released Ereinion and turned to Thranduil, who was standing there grinning. "Celeborn and the twins have been here for over a year waiting for you two to get your sorry backsides here." Neither elf looked overly repentant.

The ancient shipwright sighed and lead them into the building that housed the now defunct ropery. It was the longest building in the now crumbling city of Mithlond, or had been, only one end still open.

"We sail in the morning you two." Cirdan stated and plonked himself down in front of his other three guests who all smiled up at the new pair, all with comments to the effect of 'you're late' much to both Ereion and Thranduil's amusement.

XXX

"You look about as enthusiastic about arriving here as us." Thranduil commented as he and Celeborn bookened the former high king. All three leant against the rail of the ship, watching the nearing sight of the port all new arrivals to Tol Eressa and by extension Aman went to first.

"Aman is as much my home as yours, that is to say not at all." Ereinion grumbled. Both sindar snorted.

"No comment." There was silence as the three sullenly watched the ship go through the harbour entrance.

"Ooo, look, we have a welcome party." Thrandul drawled sarcastically. Ereinion grinned, the Sindar's sense of humour was one of the things he'd always liked about the elf.

Indeed, there was a welcome party. At the front of it were, of course, Elrond, Celebrian, Galadriel and Legolas but next to them were some elves none of the three at the bow recognised. Some of them were distinctly noldo while at least one other was telerin, and clearly a truly ancient telerin judging by his beard. Ereinion, looking at the features had an idea who it was, especially as he had features that were somewhat familiar despite the fact he knew he'd never seen the elf before.

Cirdan called to them to help out as the neared the dock and so they went to start casting out the lines to the waiting dock staff.

One the ship was secured, the gangpank was put out. Celeborn, Thranduil and Ereinion looked at each other, all unwilling to disembark all of a sudden. Cirdan rolled his eyes at the trio and nimbly ran down the plank to the dock. The teler had moved to meet him and now held him in an almost crushing hug, obviously delighted to see him.

The twins were next and were dragged into Celebrian and Elrond's arms in much the same way. The three elves left on the ship at this point looked at each other and sighed before following, not really keen to disembark since it seemed so final.

Legolas hugged the stuffing out of his father, grinning manically and Galadriel gave her husband a chaste kiss before taking both his and Ereinion's hands and leading them to the group of Noldor that they didn't recognise.

"Beloved, this is my family." She then introduced the group, starting with her parents (the only non-reborn elves in the group), then her brothers and then her uncle and cousins. Ereinion was more than embarrassed to realise that he hadn't recognised his own father. Granted he had been very young when he had last seen the elf, having been sent to Cirdan as a foster when he was little more than a toddler but still.

When Galadriel introduced Fingon it was more than a little awkward since neither quite knew what to do. The two stood there, staring at each other, not moving and waiting for each other to make the first move. Then, without warning, Ereinion was shoved forward and Fingon was forced to catch him. The former high king of the Noldor pulled his son, also a former high king, into his arms and hugged him wordlessly. After a few seconds, Ereinion hugged back.

"Um, hi..." He muttered, somewhat embarrassed. Fingon laughed out loud.

"Well met indeed son, it is good to finally see you again." He released his son who promptly turned round to see who had shoved him to find a grinning Thranduil, who shrugged unrepentantly.

"Well, neither of you were going to make a move on your own. Consider it payback." Ereinion rolled his eyes. Thraduil had never quite forgiven him for deliberately shocking the socks off him after the War of the Ring. Fingon raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering about the comment.

"Never mind. Our dear sindarin king over there has a long memory and a sore spot or two. Not to mention a sense of mischief." He looked around, still feeling somewhat awkward.

By this point Cirdan had finished greeting Olwë (his brother) and had gone on to meet his brother's entire family and taken them to be introduced to Celeborn, who was Cirdan and Olwë's nephew via one of their brothers, Elmo. Elrond was bringing the twins over to their group and Ereinion almost sighed in relief at the fact his former herald and his sons would distract from the awkwardness.

Elrond promptly, upon reaching them, hugged Ereinion tightly.

"Took you long enough." He said and both laughed. The peredhil turned to the Noldorin royal family and greeted them with a nod, obviously familiar with them.

"I see you've been introduced to Ereinion." He commented. There were wry smiles between the party and the former king in question tried not to look embarrassed. Realising he wanted attention drawn from him, Elrond them proceeded to introduce his sons, who were of course, descended on both sides from the Noldorin royal family.

After a while, they retired to an estate that was slightly out of town and had been loaned to them for use until they went on to the mainland.

Very slowly Ereinion relaxed round these elves that apparently were his family. He didn't think he would be comfortable for some time yet but all the same, it was no longer awkward.

His last memory of his first night in the undying lands was going to sleep against his father as his family, both familiar and unfamiliar, chatted round him, feeling surprisingly relaxed as he realised that, whatever else Aman brought him, he had the most important thing there with him from the start.


End file.
